Wait for Me (3 page)

Kenya turned in his arms. Her big, brown eyes, he’d missed with a savage hunger, poured appraisingly over his lips before she shielded the lurid confession they made and settled her attention between his brows. 

“What are we doing, Jonathan? Our lives are so different and I can’t be who you need.” Who was she trying to convince, him or herself? “Not the lifestyle you lead.”

“Shh!” he whispered over her warm skin, running a finger over the shell of her ear. He’d missed her whiskey complexion. He traced a line over to the soft curve of her bottom lip, stroking it back and forth. “Just be quiet and let me touch you.” Eyes focused, he palmed her back, pressing her breast flat to his body. Breathing over her parted lips, he said nothing, working his leg between her thighs so she rested along his leg. Moist heat off her sex penetrated his trousers, warming his leg as he brought her closer. His hand cupped her tight butt under her dress making her body shudder. A gentle squeeze and she arched her hips against his groin.

“Am I gonna regret coming up here, Jonathan?”

“Probably—” He caught an edge of nervousness in her shaky voice. They were the only two in the elevator, why would he make her uneasy?

Guiding her into the penthouse, he paused seeing her attention focused on the wall of windows. Kenya stretched her neck, scanning the terrace.

“Gonna tell me why you’re so jumpy?” He hung their coats and her purse in the closet and continued them on to the kitchen. 

Kenya held a hand to her heart. “The windows…” She ran a hand over her hair, shooting a look between him and the glass doors. “I forgot how…pretty the view is from up here,” folding her arms her eyes darted around the place. Who had she thought he had there—another woman?

“Looking for signs of another woman, Kenya?”

“Huh—no,” she grumbled. “Where is Judge?”

“In Ireland,” he said, moving them into the kitchen.

The small bistro table sat in front of a patio door overlooking the river. Snow covered the deck, but the water sparkled under the waning evening.

“Can I get you something to drink?” He held the beverage fridge door open. Kenya parted her lips to speak and he could feel a protest tightening his hand on the door. He couldn’t let her leave. Kenya touched his mind every day and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was about the stubborn woman that made her special.

“All right, Blakemore, we can do this your way,” she said, pushing away from the table. She crossed behind him and washed her hands at the sink. Snatching a paper towel, she dried her hands. The pilot light ticked as she lit the burner and placed the kettle over the flame. “Do you have any leftovers?” she asked.

“Taking over my kitchen?” he charged, following her padding around the large space. The sight of her moving around his kitchen so comfortably and efficiently brought life to his home. 

He eyed her behind in the air as she bent over the vegetable drawer in the refrigerator. His mouth watered.

“Did you make this meatloaf, Jonathan, or your chef?” she asked peering over her shoulder.

“Chef…two days ago,” he told her as she sniffed the sealed container and made a shrug with her brows.

“Then I’ll heat it up and make a spinach salad,” Kenya said, allowing him to help her to her feet. Setting the bag of greens then the tray of meatloaf down on the counter, he held both her hands. Walking her backward until her back hit the fridge; Jonathan pulled her arms over his shoulders and rested a hand on her warm hip hidden beneath the wool dress. Taking a moment, he caressed her face, running a thumb along her hairline. Sliding his fingers through the heavy length hanging over her shoulders, her peachy scent filled his nostrils. Tempted to drop to his knees and taste her luscious fruit, he blew out a frustrated breath.

Smoothing along her curves he molded her voluptuous body under his hands, remembering her in his bed. Kenya’s moans and pleas had haunted him the last few weeks. Jonathan had to get her back. 

“Do you regret sleeping with me?” He had to know how far off her radar he’d slid.

“Jonathan, our lives are too different for anything more than this right here. It had nothing to do with having sex with you and you know it.” Kenya scowled. “You’re amazing,” she admitted, her fingers flexing along his ribs knowing if he pushed, she’d let him take her to bed.

You’re not a dog, give her some space.

He loosened his grip on her hands. “Hmm…” He groaned, "Is that all? We have different lives?”

She gazed out the window and he waited, seeing her swallow and rub a hand over the pearls around her throat.

“You can talk to me, Kenya. I’m still upset, but my feelings for you haven’t changed.”

She slipped her hands from his; she rested them under her breast. Shaking her hair off her shoulder, she squared them. He caught the string of pearls between his fingers, rubbing the expensive necklace. Had another man stepped in while they were a part?

“A gift?” He questioned for clarification. 

She nodded. “My parents…for my promotion.”

“They’re nice.” He drew them around her throat wanting to trail a kiss behind each black pearl. Raising his gaze to meet hers, he asked, “Why aren’t we a couple?”

“Answer one question.”

He leaned into the warmth of her hand on his cheek waiting to hear another man’s name on her lips.

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

Telling her a lie would lose her forever. He’d be as honest as legally possible. “Allegedly.”

She blinked, lips slightly parted and started to speak, but he placed a finger to her mouth.

“Self-defense." He shot a slanted glance in her direction. "Who told you this?”

“My…my, my sister…Morgan,” she stammered, eyes wide, trying to step away from him.

He locked arms around her waist. “Tell Morgan, next time to read the entire report. Carjack me and my mother and you get whatever I decide to deal.”

Kenya relaxed a fraction under his grip, her lips twisted thoughtfully. “That’s why you didn’t like when I checked your background.” She played her fingers over his tie, tracing the knot. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen, soon after we moved here to America. I wasn’t born here, Kenya. I could’ve been deported.”

She pushed her foot between his, agitated. A sliver of doubt sat in her eyes. It didn’t take long for her to question her suspicions. “The article I looked at, said you weren’t a teen, Jonathan. It was recent. The article reported your accountant and a few men working on your estate had turned up missing.”

"My estate is in a rural area. There's wooded land for miles. I had to hire rangers to patrol the mountains for that reason. People go missing, or go out fishing in the Atlantic, and never return. Because many live off the river surrounding my land, the officials question me and my staff. It's life in a farming community."

"So they just accused you of murder?"

"Like you're doing right now?" He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m not a boy scout, Kenya. I've done things I'm not proud of, and something’s, quite frankly, I am proud of. I protect what’s mine.” 

Kenya's mouth fell slack. Every movement caught his eyes. Her thumb burrowing the center of her palm said she knew exactly what he’d meant. 

"If you want to leave, I can't make you stay.” He waited to see her reaction. His world consisted of violent situations and if she couldn’t deal he needed to know. "I need your help, and if you're willing, I'd appreciate it."

She dropped her head to his shoulder. “How do I let her do these things to me?”

“What’s between you and Morgan?” Her sister had an unhealthy hold on Kenya.

She lifted her face, apprehension played behind her soft eyes. “Our biological mother, Momma’s youngest sister, died giving birth to me. Our father couldn’t handle us after that. Morgan’s blamed me for her death and Daddy leaving all my life.” She pressed a hand down her thighs. “Katherine and Marcus, my adoptive parents, who also happen to be my aunt and uncle, took us in immediately from the hospital…we’ve been their children ever since.”

All of her tense reactions to his family issues made complete sense now. “I guess we both have sore moments in our lives.”

“I guess so,” she whispered looking off toward nothing in thought.

He clapped his hands together and blew out a stream of air in exasperation. “Alright…we’re having dinner as ex-lovers pretending to be just friends.”

“Pretending,” her tone incredulous, she then offered him a weak smile. “Ex-lovers, Jonathan it’s not a death sentence to be friends. You have to admit, we had fun together in the mountains.”

He ran a finger over the pearls around her neck, then stepped away from the temptation of her mouth. She wasn’t ex-anything in his book. At the cabinet, he grabbed two glasses, setting them on the counter.

He held on to the knob on the cabinet, listening to Kenya shuffle things on the counter. Neither addressed the true reason she’d left him, but she was staying and he’d get to the truth before the night was over. His shoulders relaxed.

“I need your assistance with the situation with the farms in Ireland.”

She spoke over her shoulder, “The problem with the accountant…the embezzling?”

He nodded coming to her side. “You’re in finance. Thought I’d bounce a few ideas off you…an unbiased opinion, of course,” he suggested and dipped his head indicating the wine fridge, “Wine?”

“Please,” she replied.

He crossed the short space to the little fridge, pulled out a bottle of red then grabbed the glasses, and set them and the wine on the table. Kenya’s focus trained on him moving through the room. Their bodies brushed over one another as they moved around the kitchen. Kenya made a low satisfying moan. He’d missed the sound of her in his home. Breathing in her scent, he let his hand caress her shoulders before he moved and retrieved linen napkins from the top drawer. 

He didn’t bring up their relationship again. Instead, he rested a hip along the counter's edge folding his arms under his chest. That would keep him from running his hand down her back to cup her sweet ass. In that moment Kenya turned to look at him then moved to the pantry coming out with the cling wrap. There was still a little tension between them, and uneasiness when she looked at him. 

“So what’s going on in Ireland?” she asked, wrapping the meatloaf in a platter and she placed it in the microwave.

“My accountant’s stealing from the farmers. Skimming off the top using a bogus account he has set-up.”

She stood at the sink, washing her hands with her face tipped back over her shoulder. “Jonathan, you’re in finance. What can I offer that you don’t already know?”

“I’m not a banker, Kenya. I’m an investor,” he said getting past her. He held her waist then drew the drawer open, reached into the bottom, shelf lifting out two plates. “Slide your hip over some, babe. I need to get at the silverware.”

“Oh.” Kenya blushed, the color moved up to her eyes. She still wanted him just as he thought. She cleared her throat, she continued, “nice flatware, family antiques?”

“No, I like the intricate carving.” He stood at her back, leaning around her shoulder turning the fork back and forth.

“It’s beautiful. You have nice taste,” she admitted, peering over her shoulder. He wanted to kiss those soft lips but wouldn’t. He wanted her, but he refused to chase her.

She slipped on an oven mitt. Removing the platter with the meatloaf, she placed it on the marble counter. Making thick slices, she plated up their dinners.

“The farms. I need to set up an account where they self-monitor their land payments.”

Kenya sliced open the bag of spinach and poured some in a large glass bowl. Comfortable in his home, Kenya scanned his refrigerator. Pickled beets, feta cheese, and some romaine lettuce out of the fridge filled her arms as she stepped around the counter. The sight of her warmed his heart.

At the table he switched on the overhead light dimming its bright glow. Opening the wine, he poured two glasses. Kenya set plates of salad on the table. 

She set the knife down and took the glass. They stood for a moment in silence staring at one another as they sipped their wine.

“That’s nice,” Kenya praised.

“I’m partial to red,” he said.

“I know, Blakemore. I haven’t completely wiped my memories of you.”

He tapped a finger over the bridge of her nose, wanting to test that theory, drag her to the floor, and see if she remembered his favorite position. “Good to know, Pretty Lady.”

Kenya smoothed her dress down under her and accepted the chair he offered. “Thank you, Jonathan,” she said. Her thick hair bounced over her shoulders as she scooted her chair in. “How far is the bank from the majority of the farmers?”

He lowered into the seat across from her at the small table and started on his dinner. “In town…fifteen minutes from most farms.”

“Hm…We can set up a mother account, assign each person a rotating password which allows them to change it after each deposit. It’s a costly program because of the technology…”

She looked amazing eating her salad. He watched her soft lips closing around the fork. Get a grip, man, before you pin her to the floor.

“How many accounts can I have under the mother account?”

She cast him a sideways glance keeping her attention on the meal, then said, “There is no cap, just most companies save it for a handful of employees that have access to large sums of money from the same account.”

That sounded like what he needed.

“Can I get this set up in Ireland?”

“You’d have to become a client of the bank, and, Jonathan…”

“Then I’m a client,
your
client.” He forked a slice of meatloaf popping it in his mouth. He gave a closed smile seeing her wide eyes.

“Jonathan, I can’t be your rep, not after the relationship we had.” Kenya placed her hand over his on the table. “I can pass your account over to a senior rep. They’ll know exactly what you need and handle it with the utmost confidence and professionalism.”

“A rep!” He dropped back in the chair. It jerked back evoking a scrapping noise from the legs dragging over the tile floor. He let his attention move out through the large glass window and blew out a frustrated breath, dropping his napkin to the table. The glass of wine rocked when he pushed away. Standing, he excused himself before moving to the living room. Tugging the knot from his silk tie, the length hung wrinkled down his chest, he unbuttoned his shirt at the neck before he flopped down on the sofa.